


The Lash

by Aard_Rinn



Series: Crime in Crystals [10]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nobility, Gen, Whipping, servant abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aard_Rinn/pseuds/Aard_Rinn
Summary: There's a reason that, by Prowl and Jazz's time in Spec Ops, whipping is no longer tolerated as a punishment.This is that reason.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime
Series: Crime in Crystals [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749994
Comments: 43
Kudos: 126





	The Lash

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is set around five centivorns after the events of CiC: Mirage's first few chapters!

The muttering in the halls is the first thing that sets Ironhide on edge.

It’s not too uncommon, of course, for the nobles to speak quietly among themselves - but there’s a tension, a _directionality_ , to these whisperings that flares his plating with unease. ::Ironhide to all mechs - what’s goin’ on?::

He gets a half-dozen pings of ::Nothing.:: before he gets a proper reply. 

::One of the servants tripped - covered Lord Milifore’s valet in energon, and got a little on his Lordship himself.:: Argon pings back. ::He’s ordered them beaten.::

::How bad?::

::’s not pretty.:: Argon replies. ::He’s having one of his guards do it - they’re not happy, but they know what they’re doing.::

::Slag. Let medical know - somebody head over there ta’ escort ‘em when ‘s done.:: Ironhide glances over at Optimus - who is following the noble’s glancing gazes towards… ::Slag. Prime incomin’.::

“Optimus.” He bows his helm respectfully, keeping his voice low. ::Prime - yer not gonna want t’ see what’s goin’ on in there.::

::What’s going on in there?:: There’s an earnest curiosity in the words that rankles, because he can’t lie to it - can’t soften the blow.

::One ‘a th’ servants fragged up.:: Ironhide pauses. ::Th’ lord he slagged off is havin’ him whipped.::

::Oh.:: There’s a soft horror in the way Optimus says it. ::I - let’s go over there, Ironhide. It’s my palace - my mech. I should see.::

Ironhide can’t do anything but follow along as Optimus sweeps towards the doorway - the lesser nobility scattering in his path. He pauses, on the threshold, and Ironhide can feel the way his field curdles, at the sight.

It’s awful, in the way that floggings are - not gruesome, except to a mech that can’t bear to witness pain. The servant is kneeling, frame shuddering as a smartly painted guard administers expert lashes - across each shoulder, alternating, as the mech below him quakes silently. 

Then he’s done, and the servant - not one Ironhide recognizes, but there are too many for him to know every face - slumps to the ground, shaking, without ever crying out.

One of the Prime’sguard is already moving through the crowd to escort the mech to medical when Optimus begins to move.

He pushes forwards, leaving Ironhide scrambling to follow - he pings the other Prime’sguard, it’s the worst sort of situation for a single guard, surrounded on all sides in a crowd, and the mech starts to head for him, two more leaving their posts to converge down the halls - but the crowd parts again before him, until at last Optimus is standing, plating flared with rage, in the clear place in the middle of the chamber.

Ironhide expects him to check on the servant. He doesn’t expect him to turn, drawing himself to his full and terrible height, on the lord.

“Ironhide - seize him.” Optimus’ order is a low and threatening thrum, straight from his chest, and his optics blaze like blue fire as Ironhide steps forwards. He isn’t particularly gentle with the mech - who looks so shocked at the order that he doesn’t put up any resistance until Ironhide’s hand is wrapped around the ferrule of his throat, dragging him off his pedes and to his knees before the Prime.

“My Lord.” Ironhide, too, kneels - distaff to the mech, in the formal pose of a Prime’sguard presenting a prisoner to the Prime. He can feel the frightened tremble that the Milifore is trying to hide - the fear teeking his field. It’s the same posture used when presenting the condemned.

::Optimus, what -::

Optimus ignores him - instead reaching out to gesture the whip-wielding guard forwards. “Bring that here.”

The guard gives him a petrified, wide-opticked look. Ironhide can’t blame him - he’s a low-ranked guard to a mid-ranked noble, nomech who in a thousand years should be even _dreaming_ of being addressed by the Body of Primus. It takes a moment, but he staggers forwards, dropping to his knees well before he’s close enough to even touch Optimus.

::Optimus -:: He pings, more urgently.

::What?:: Optimus’ voice is furious - but none of it, none of the _frustration_ , is aimed at him.

::He didn’ do anythin’ criminal, mech. Didn’ commit treason, an’ he’d have th’ right ta demand th’ spark o’ anymech tha’ touches ‘im wi’ tha’ thin’. Even if ye pardon ‘em - House Murano is powerful - they’ll be stirrin’ insurrection th’ moment word o’ ye havin’ one o’ theirs disgraced over a commoner gets back t’ them.:: Ironhide hesitates, as Optimus stares down at him and his kneeling prisoner.

::It’s a capital crime for a commoner to punish a lord at the Prime’s command?:: He asks, voice like a knife.

::Even then.:: Ironhide hesitates, again, but Optimus doesn’t. Striding forwards - too close to the kneeling guard for Ironhide’s comfort, and the mech cringes away in open terror at his approach - he gestures for the whip.

::But not for a Prime to punish a lord.:: It takes a moment for Ironhide to realize what he means - and he can’t stop his own optics from going near-white in alarm when he does. 

::Optimus -::

“Turn him.” There’s a snarl to Optimus’ voice in the quiet of the hall - a hundred mechs watching with the silence of dead frames. Ironhide doesn’t hesitate - doesn’t even falter, as if this is an order he has received a hundred or a thousand times, and not just _once_ \- he rises, turning the terrified noblemech’s frame, wrenching him bodily around until his hands are held, back bared to Optimus - and the whip.

“How many times did he have him beaten?” he asks, voice deceptively casual as he gestures past Ironhide at the sprawled, wide-opticked servant. There’s no response - no one seems to even _think_ to respond - and he lets his engine rumble, threatening -

“Twenty!” A voice calls out - high, soft, frightened. Ironhide doesn’t shift to see who’s spoken - he remains locked in place, helm bowed in deference to his Prime’s command. “I mean - twenty, my Lord Prime, I’m sorry -”

The voice goes silent, but Optimus’ engine gives an approving thunder. “Twenty, then.” He pauses. “Let’s see if you can bear it as well.”

The first crack of the whip has the lord screaming - thrashing in Ironhide’s hold.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the fifteenth blow, he is limp - whole frame slack, Ironhide’s grip the only thing keeping him upright. His whole frame shudders, and he flinches when Optimus brings the tip of the whip down, not in a blow, but to rest, arcing current, against the small of his back.

“I find that I’m not a fan of whips.” Optimus says - voice as graven as steel.

He brings the whip up and down in a furious slash.

“Not a fan of the mechs who would bring them into my palace -”

He repeats the blow - the whole weight of his arm in the gesture.

“- or use them against my _loyal_ servants.”

This time, the strike lands, not across the mech’s back, but his shoulders, sending sparks skipping across the joins in his plating.

“They’re a barbaric tool -”

The next blow lands straight, punishing enough to make the mech jolt in Ironhide’s grip.

“- not worthy of the mercy that is Primus’ will.”

He lashes out one final time - and pings Ironhide an image, in the same moment, an instruction -

Ironhide tosses the lord hands-first to his pedes before his Prime. He huddles there, quaking, as Optimus folds the still-sparking electrowhip - holds it, as electricity scatters across his hands, and doesn’ flinch as he jams the loop under the lord’s throat, forcing his helm up to meet Optimus’ frozen glare.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Milifore?” He snarls the name without formal address - but Lord Milifore is in no state to protest the disrespect. He nods, shakily, vocalizer clicking uselessly when he tries to talk as static arcs across it. 

Optimus gives a disdainful snort as he deactivates the whip. “Good.” He glances up at Ironhide, optics still icy-white with fury. “Have one of your mechs bring him to medical.”

Then he steps back, gazing across the crowd. “I _trust_ that there will be no more of this.”

With a crisp gesture to Ironhide, he turns - and Ironhide, obediently, discards Lord Milifore, and obeys.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Optimus, to his credit, manages to make it all the way back to his private corridors before slumping over in panic. He hasn’t done so well to keep it out of his field, of course - but Ironhide, scowling, has been enough to keep other mechs away.

“Tha’ was…” Ironhide hesitates a moment before slumping down beside him, reaching out to put a hand, gently on his knee. “Tha’ was somethin’, mech.”

“Megatron’s idea.” Optimus manages to get out. “That was - that was awful.”

“Megatron’s -” 

“He said that -” Optimus resets his vocalizer, which takes some of the threadiness out of his voice, but none of the stress from his field. “He said that if I wanted them to stop whipping the servants, I should show them what it felt like to fear a master.”

“Sounds like ‘im, yeah.” It _is_ an idea with a uniquely Megatron flair - and more than a touch of the disdain the mech is so willing to show for the upper classes. “He help ye wi’ th’ wordin’ of it, too?”

Optimus nods miserably.

“Hmph.” Ironhide considers it - _that_ \- for a klik before speaking. “Showy, but I like it.”

“You -” Optimus looks thunderstruck. “You do?”

“Mm. Give it an orn, an’ every mech lookin’ ta curry favor wi’ you will’ve heard tha’ th’ Prime don’ approve o’ hittin’ servants.” He grins at the confusion in Optimus’ gaze. “What? Prime, yer th’ _Prime_ \- a trendsett’r. Give it two, an’ there won’ be a fash’nable House in Iacon tha’ still beats their servan’s - at leas’ not openly. Give it a coupl’ vorn, an’ you might’ve broken ‘em down ‘nuff ta criminalize it, even.”

“You -” Optimus sounds like he can’t quite muster belief. “You think that?”

“If ye put yerself to it, sure. Talk ‘bout it when yer in close company, make sure yer overheard talkin’ ‘bout it in th’ right audials, ye can give it a shot…” Ironhide shrugs. “Weren’ always tha’ th’ Lords had so much impunity wi’ their servan’s. Don’ see why ye couldn’ swing thin’s back, if ye wan’.”

“I - I hated it.” Optimus whispers it like a confession. “The way he screamed -”

“Like ‘e was a coward.” Ironhide snorts. “Don’ feel bad, Prime. ‘E didn’ ‘esitate ta have Chalet beat on - an’ Chalet didn’ scream at all.”

“Chalet. That was the servant?” Ironhide nods, and Optimus’ shoulders slump a little. “Have him - have something arranged for him? Some time off, or - I don’t know -”

“I’ll ‘ave th’ butler arrange somethin’. An’ a commendation fer service fer ‘is file from ye, if yer willin’ ta sign it? It’ll go far if he ev’r leaves th’ palace.”

Optimus nods. “Of course.”

“Let’s get ye back ta yer pedes -” Ironhide rises to his own, offering Optimus a grin. “An’ maybe swing by Ambulon’s - don’ think I didn’ see ye burnin’ th’ slag outta yer hand.”

“We should - the party -”

“Fer jus’ this once, mech - let ‘em talk.” Ironhide grins back at his Prime, optics bright. “It’ll do ‘em some good."

**Author's Note:**

> Someone mentioned, about the last chapter of CiC: Mirage, that it was good to see the effect that Optimus had had on the Primacy. That got me thinking about whipping as a punishment, and how exactly to go stamping something like that out. That, combined with the intense catharsis of that Ironhide/Legend scene, led to this - which is canon, but only inasmuch as it's a one-shot I spent like two or three hours on, and therefore may not click perfectly. Bear with - it's really just a plot bunny that grew legs.
> 
> Hopefully this scratches some of y'all's itch for some more nobility-focused stuff, too - I know I haven't managed to work a ton in, so accept this humble offering. :D
> 
> I'll probably do a couple more of these smaller one-shots - I'll move them into their own collection to keep them from cluttering up the place if it gets too bad. Let me know what you think :D or if you have any good ideas for ones. Next main chapter should be up tomorrow, this was just eating me! :D


End file.
